


tied knots around my heart, and yet they've let you in

by Resamille



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Breathplay, Dom!Galo, Dom/sub, Galo is a gentle dom, M/M, Painplay, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Rope Bondage, Spanking, Sub!Lio, Subspace, Suspension, bondage play, but mild?, no choking in this fic sorry, soft gays in love, suspension play, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:33:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Sometimes Lio just needs to let go. Galo helps.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 16
Kudos: 175





	tied knots around my heart, and yet they've let you in

**Author's Note:**

> do you ever just accidentally write 4k of galolio bondage porn on new year's. yeah, me too. anyway what a great way to kick off 2020 huh. and what a way to introduce myself to the promare fandom.
> 
> lmao disclaimer i am not an expert in bdsm and especially not in suspension play so by no means should you take any of this fic as a reference for safe practice. also note: this scene is consensual and heavily negotiated beforehand, as implied by the amount of trust lio has in galo and that they've been doing this together for a while. i may be a dumb bitch but i at least know that you should always talk shop before playing. i just didn't bother writing it in because i am lazy and wanted to get to the ROPE.
> 
> this fic was 100% inspired by scrolling aimlessly through notcamdamage's insta at like 5am. i spent a lot of time in this fic thinkin' 'bout ropes.

Lio looks good in black.

He knows this, acknowledges it, reminds himself of it, as restlessness flutters beneath his skin like butterflies trying to get out. He breathes in—slow, steady—and focuses on the sound of the AC coming from the living room of his and Galo's apartment and the faint yet constant murmur of traffic in the city below. There are no voices in his head, no whispers or commands or pleas.

It's just him.

“Lio.”

Lio hums. He'd been staring unseeingly at an arbitrary spot on the carpet, but now he lets his eyes fall closed. He feels the press of the carpet on his knees and shins, bare, and settles his hands in his lap, quieting the urge to fidget with the hem of his briefs. He listens for Galo's movement, his breath.

“Are you ready, Baby?” Galo asks.

He's standing behind Lio, and Lio hears the whisper of cloth moving. Anticipation runs steady through his veins. A shiver works its way up his spine, unbidden and uncontrollable, even as Lio revels in the cold. It's been so long since he'd felt it.

In response to Galo, he nods, then adds, aloud and clear, “Yes.” Because the game they play doesn't work without communication. It's built on trust, on the promise of it.

Galo threads his fingers through Lio's hair, scratching soothingly at his scalp, and Lio leans into it. “You're sure?”

“Yes,” Lio repeats.

Galo slips the blindfold, a folded bandana, over Lio's head. It's a soft and almost silky fabric, and Lio relishes the temporary coolness of it against his skin. He hears Galo move, reaching for the lengths of black rope that Lio knows are piled on the bed. He hears, and feels the movement of the air, as Galo sits behind him and begins looping rope around Lio.

It begins with his chest. Lio raises his arms out of the way without being asked as Galo works. Three times around, to start, and then his shoulders, and then the rest. It's not an especially pretty harness, not like the ones Meis wraps Lio in when they play together, but it's a step above functional.

Functional would be a few times around Lio's chest, and then hang him out to dry, but the process of it helps ease Lio in, so Galo always starts with something that gives him time to focus on the feel of the rope around him without the pressure to do or be or desire anything else.

Even as Galo finishes the harness with practiced knots, Lio isn't actually restrained at all. The rope sits snug against his skin, not enough to bite, but enough to feel, and Lio's sure if there was any weight pulling it, the marks it would leave behind would be red and beautiful. Lio wets his lips and lets his head drop forward as he automatically, instinctively, folds his arms behind his back.

“There you are,” Galo murmurs. His voice is soft and low, perhaps not even speaking to Lio at all, but Lio clings to the timbre of it in his mind, replaying the words until their lose their meaning and all that remains is sound.

Galo begins to tie off Lio's arms with another length of rope, connecting to the back of the harness. It's a single loop over both his wrists, not tight at all, but small enough that he wouldn't be able to remove his arms without dislocating his shoulder or some similarly complex trick meant for escape artists.

Lio has no intentions of escaping. When he tugs back with his arms, the front of the harness pulls across his bare chest, nipping at his skin.

“Lio,” Galo breathes and presses a kiss to Lio's shoulder. “So pretty, so good.”

The praise itself isn't what does it, but the fact there's so little else to cling to right now. Galo's voice, and his words, and the rope, and the carpet beneath Lio, and Lio's own mind, but nothing else.

“Bed?” Galo asks, and Lio shakes his head immediately. “Still want to go up?”

“Yes,” Lio says.

“Do you want me to do your legs before or after we move?”

“Now,” Lio answers. He feels bare without the rope. He expects it; he craves it.

“Okay,” Galo says, so, so gentle. His hands stay at Lio's shoulders, steadying, as Lio rises from his seated position on the floor.

Lio finds his feet under him. The warmth of Galo against his back retreats as Galo goes to get more rope. Lio starts slightly when he feels Galo's fingers skim over his hip.

“Sorry,” Galo breathes, the ghost of a laugh on his tongue. “You usually know exactly where I am even when you're blindfolded. Didn't mean to scare you.”

“Not scared,” Lio rasps. He doesn't elaborate. Galo doesn't argue, not in this quiet space they're building between them.

Instead, Galo begins wrapping rope around Lio's hips, a couple of times around his waist, then from the jut of his hip to around his thigh, and repeat on the other side. The hip harness is purely functional, in contrast to the rope on Lio's chest, but Lio still enjoys it. If he closed his legs, he could rub the ropes against the sides of his cock through the fabric of his briefs. He's almost tempted to, impulse driving him to _want_ , but Galo places a warm hand on the inside of Lio's thigh.

“Don't squirm,” Galo warns.

Lio takes a deep breath. He tugs his shoulders back, pulling the chest harness tight to keep himself busy while Galo ties a few quick loops around one of Lio's thighs. He knots the rope in place, and then kisses just above the hem of Lio's briefs on his hip.

Galo's hands find their way to Lio's shoulders again. “Step back, Baby.”

Lio complies, letting Galo's hands guide him. He's walking in darkness, unable to catch himself if he trips. It should scare him, but Lio knows he's safe. Galo has held his life in Lio's hands countless times, either in the field or in their bedroom. Fear has no place here.

Lio moves until Galo has him in place, presumably under the bamboo bar they reserve for this purpose (and, okay, occasionally for drying sweaters, but that's besides the point). As Galo throws ropes over the bamboo shaft, Lio thinks of the soft cable knit that Galo had gotten him last year around Valentine's. He wonders if it's clean.

“Ready?” Galo asks, voice coming from over Lio's right shoulder. His fingers hover at the small of Lio's back.

“Yes.”

Lio feels the brush of Galo's fingertips as the ropes come together, tied and trust-filled. Galo knots the suspension tie just above where Lio's hands are bound, connecting to the back of the chest harness. He pulls it taut, enough to make Lio's breath catch in his chest at the sudden tension in the ropes. He drags in a deep breath, and groans when the ropes fight him for it, scraping against his ribs like gentle claws.

“Good?” Galo asks.

“Th—that's good,” Lio manages.

From here on out, Lio becomes nothing but a weight. He becomes a body in space, all physics and joints and planes and angles. He becomes art, mixed with the science of trust. He owes Galo every movement, every breath, and Galo controls the placement of each limb, controls how much Lio feels, the expressions he makes, pried from his soul while the rope entangles him.

It begins with Galo adding another line of rope, connecting to the ropes he'd already knotted around Lio's thigh. The pulls the line taut, then tight, and then further, up and away, until Lio is forced to shift his weight onto his other leg. Still, Galo continues, until Lio has one leg raised in the air, taking weight, while he balances precariously on the tips of his toes on the other foot.

“Lift this up for me, Baby,” Galo says, tapping the leg Lio still has on the ground.

Lio swallows and shifts his weight. He tries to do it fluidly, to fall into the ropes with grace, and he thinks he's ready, but when he finally lifts his foot entirely off the ground, he sucks in a sharp breath as everything settles into place. His weight falls against the ropes at his chest, straining just under his collarbone. For a moment, he almost puts his foot back down to gather himself, but then he finds his place, twisting his hips to better take the pressure on his thigh.

“Good,” Galo praises. He runs his palms down Lio's calf, lingering and adoring. “You're doing so well for me.”

Galo wraps a rope around Lio's thigh as Lio holds his foot off the ground obediently. When he's knotted the loop in place, Galo guides Lio to bend at his knee until Lio's calf presses against the back of his thigh. It's hardly a stretch now, but by the time they're done, Lio will feel the strain in his muscles. He'll ache with it. He'll savor it.

Galo wraps the rope around Lio's ankle, keeping him in that position. Lio tugs experimentally at the knots, but they hold him tight. Galo brings the rope down his leg, too, binding Lio's calf to his thigh in a second place, then a third. When he's done, he steps back, and lets Lio become weightless.

It falls over him in bits and pieces—first his toes, lifted in the air. Lio wiggles them absently, remembering what it's like to feel every part of his body on a singular basis. His feet, then his ankles, then eventually his thighs, where the rope bites him, where it tastes him.

It hurts, where the rope holds him up. His weight isn't meant to be pressed against his skin, isn't meant to be scraped into his memory with rope marks. It hurts, but it feels good. He's alive, where the pain blooms out across his body. He's alive, and there's nothing else but him and the rope and Galo. The next breath pulls through Lio's chest and brings with it something akin to relief.

Galo trails his fingers across Lio's stomach, and the skin there twitches in response. He wasn't startled, not like before, but his body wasn't expecting the touch, even if his mind had already accepted it. It sends warm tingles through Lio's belly.

Galo lets his fingers wander, tracing without direction across Lio's body. He trails up to Lio's nipples, leaves gooseflesh in his wake. He brushes fingertips across Lio's thighs, chases the length of his outstretched leg, and then begins wrapping more rope along Lio's thigh. Then, he adds a new rope to Lio's other thigh, loops it over the bamboo, and begins to pull.

Lio feels his weight shift, feels himself spin in the air, tilting so that he's facing the ground. Galo settles him when he's about level, weight evenly held by each of his legs. He lets Lio settle into it again, wiggling slightly to make the rope fall where he wants to feel it.

Lio hears Galo moving. Suddenly, the blindfold is tugged down from Lio's eyes. Lio gasps, blinking up at Galo blearily. He drags in a gasp, hampered by the bandana that now sits over his mouth.

Galo is grinning brightly. “Hey, Baby,” he says, “Let's fix that.”

Except he doesn't put the blindfold back in place. Instead, he adjusts it so that the fabric hangs snugly over Lio's nose and mouth. Lio drags in a breath, and the fabric follows, making Lio's breath come short. When he breathes out, the air warms in front of him, clinging wetly to the bandana.

“How are we doing?” Galo asks. He brushes a lock of hair behind Lio's ear, fingers lingering on Lio's skin. “Good?”

Lio rasps, “Yes.”

“Let me know if that changes,” Galo says.

It won't, Lio thinks, but that doesn't need to be said. Instead, he lets his head hang down, and finds the bandana falls away when he does. He lets out a disgruntled grumble.

“Can't have that,” says Galo, and moves away.

Lio turns his head and watches, this time, as Galo retrieves another rope from the bed. He fastens it to the bamboo, and then uses one hand to curl his fingers in Lio's long hair and yank his head up.

Lio gasps harshly, breath once again caught in the bandana. He struggles with it, adrenaline spiking in his veins for a heartbeat, until he manages a more controlled breath, slow and steady, and pulls air more fully into his lungs.

Galo twists his fingers in Lio's hair. It spills just past his shoulders, now, long enough to tangle properly. Galo spins Lio's hair into a knot of its own, and then ties the rope to it. Lio's eyes slip closed instinctively as pain blossoms on his scalp, a constant pressure. It's not sharp, but enough to keep Lio's head help up.

“There,” Galo chirps. He slides his palm over Lio's shoulder, following the curve of his arm. “God, you're beautiful.”

Galo's fingers tickle along Lio's spine, tracing over the space between the hip and chest harnesses. And then he smacks Lio's ass.

Lio yelps on instinct, tasting fabric on his tongue when he inhales the bandana on accident. His entire body jolts, ropes straining in all different ways as he unintentionally shifts. It didn't hurt—a tap, really—but he was caught by surprise.

“Okay?” Galo asks.

Lio spits fabric from his mouth. “Yes.” More than okay.

Galo hits him again, this time with some force, though not enough to ache. It shocks through Lio, sending warmth as far as his fingertips. As he tenses in reaction, the ropes on his thighs pull tight, leaving pinpricks of rope burn in their wake. Lio pants against the bandana, already feeling lightheaded.

“Again.”

Galo hits him again, twice, one on each cheek. This time, he means business, and Lio flinches away instinctively as the second strike connects.

“Galo, more,” Lio gasps out. His head swims with the sensation, pain spiraling out like static throughout his body.

Galo runs his palm across Lio's ass, almost a caress, and then hits him hard enough that Lio cries out, uninhibited. His cock twitches in his briefs. There is nothing but sensation, and Lio can't think—there's—he needs to say—

But before he can ask, Galo knows what he wants, and he hits Lio again, three more slaps that have Lio panting heavily into the bandana, dragging in quick sharp breaths and riding the adrenaline high.

“Three more,” Galo says. Warns. Awards.

Lio whines. “ _Please_.”

The next hit makes him jolt his head, strain his arms, but the ropes are unyielding. Lightning skitters over Lio's scalp, and he moans. The last two leave Lio throbbing with it. He can feel the beat of his heart under his skin, alive and thrumming, and with each pulse it carries an ache with it.

“You're so amazing,” Galo murmurs, awe in his voice. “My gorgeous Lio.”

Slowly, Galo loosens the hold on Lio's thigh, the one not bound to his calf. Lio shifts as Galo lowers his leg slowly to the ground. Lio lets his foot hang, knee bent, so he simply rests there, still floating. His head is pulled to the side, hair still caught in rope, but he doesn't mind, even as it burns through him. He peels his eyes open, hazily focusing on Galo.

Lio watches as Galo reaches for the rope holding up his other leg. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Please.”

Galo moves close. He presses a kiss to Lio's temple. He slides the bandana down so it falls limply around Lio's neck. “What do you need?”

“Just—a bit more,” Lio breathes.

“Okay,” Galo says.

A body in space. An aching, groaning, bound body, but a body nonetheless. Lio, here, is nothing more than himself. His mind has gone blissfully empty, save for the pain. The only tension he holds is that imposed by the ropes.

Galo gives him a little longer to enjoy it. To simmer in the pleasure-pain, in the tranquility and agony, all at once. Another blessing, he unties Lio's arms, first, instead of relaxing the suspension. Lio lets his arms fall, limp, a dead weight. He marvels, absently, at the way his fingers curl, naturally, easily, without anything but instinct to guide them.

Galo lets Lio's hair free next, and with that rope dropped to the floor, the bandana goes, too. As Lio lets his head lull against his shoulder, Galo brushes the hair away from his neck and kisses his nape. Lio shudders.

Next, his leg. Galo releases the suspension slowly, and guides Lio to stand on his free leg, or at least half-ass balance, still leaning into the harness, while Galo unties his leg. Lio stretches it out with a groan. A low murmur of pain ripples through him, starting at his thigh.

When Galo releases the tension in the last suspension rope, he's expecting Lio's reaction: Lio goes limp, falling into Galo's open arms. Galo catches him; he always does. He picks Lio up, arms curled strong and firm under Lio's back and thighs, and lays Lio across their bed.

“Galo,” Lio murmurs.

Galo looks at him, attentive. “Yeah, Baby?”

Lio smiles, soft. “Just Galo.”

That gets him a grin, wide and blinding. He leans down to kiss Lio on the mouth. His lips are firm, guiding, compared to Lio's slack mouth, letting himself be kissed. Galo moves to press a kiss to the corner of Lio's mouth, then his jaw, then his neck, then...

Thoroughly distracted from untying Lio the rest of the way, Galo plants himself on the bed, straddling Lio. He bites at Lio's collarbone, sucking skin between his teeth right next to where black rope sits starkly.

Lio grasps at Galo, wrapping his arms around Galo's neck, fingers skimming over his shoulders, digging into the muscle in his back. He can touch, now, and the euphoria of contact, of warmth in his palms like the memory of promare, fills him.

Galo moves up from his neck, planting wet kisses as he goes, and then bites at Lio's lips, pulling them between his teeth. Lio moans against his lips, a sharp prick of pain from Galo's canines reminding him of how his body burns. Galo licks into his mouth, and convinces him to forget again.

“Galo,” Lio gasps. “Galo—wanna... _fuck_ , wanna get you off.”

“Yeah?” Galo chirps, perking up. “What you got in mind?”

“Thighs,” Lio murmurs, curling his fingers over the curve of Galo's shoulder blade. He's so warm. “Fuck me, Galo.”

Galo's gaze goes heated and fond all at once, and it makes something in Lio's stomach flip wildly. His heart, maybe, though he doesn't know how it got there from his chest.

“Yeah,” Galo whispers. “But I gotta get the ropes off you first, okay, Baby?”

“No,” Lio whines, dragging the word out. “Don't wanna.”

“I gotta,” Galo says, “You won't wanna take them off later, either.”

Lio pouts, and he squirms a little as Galo starts working on the knots, just to be an ass about it, but Galo just smiles softly at him and bears it. Lio doesn't deserve him, but something selfish in his core clings onto Galo and never wants to let him go. But it can't really be selfish, because that same part of him wants to give Galo the entire world.

Galo extracts Lio from the ropes, tossing them to the floor in favor of running his hands over Lio. He traces the marks the ropes have left behind, pink and raw now, and maybe a few will bruise into purple, later. Galo kisses along the line of three that he used to start the harness around Lio's chest in light, feathery brushes of lips.

Lio threads his fingers through Galo's hair and tugs impatiently. He musters the coherency to grumble, “Thought I said to fuck me.”

Galo lifts his head, slowly, like he's obliging Lio, despite the insistent pulling on his hair. “And I thought I was in charge tonight.”

Lio sticks his tongue out at Galo.

Galo does it right back. And then he leans down and kisses Lio with enough force to leave him breathless. When he pulls back, Lio feels dazed. Galo grins at him, and then strips Lio of his briefs and goes to retrieve the lube from the nightstand.

“Turn over,” Galo orders. “On your knees, Baby.”

Lio lets out a shaky breath, feeling warmth pool in his belly, and complies. He feels languid and boneless, and wonders if his arms will even hold him up. Galo wraps his hands around Lio's hips in an admiring touch before he bites the curve of Lio's ass.

Lio groans, pain sparking across his nerves. Galo kisses the same spot, and Lio isn't sure if that's any less brutal. It makes heat flash through him, and he moans. He looks over his shoulder in time to see Galo shove his sweats down from his hips and take himself in hand, stroking to full hardness. Lio watches. He wants.

Galo pours lube into his hand, slicking himself, and then swiping the leftover onto Lio's thighs. He presses Lio's thighs together, and then presses his cock between them, sliding hot and slick against Lio.

Lio manages to hang on for a moment, and then, in the stillness, he gives. He lets his arms go limp, and takes the weight of his upper body on his shoulders, face turned so his cheek presses against the bed.

“Oh, Baby,” Galo says. “C'mere.”

Lio feels hands wrap around his sides, fingers fitting against his ribs, as Galo lifts him. He keeps one arm around Lio, cradling him in place, and uses the other to grip at Lio's hip. Lio lets his head tilt back against Galo's shoulder, absently mouthing at his neck. He shivers as Galo shifts, and their cocks brush.

“That's it, Lio,” Galo whispers. “Just relax. Hold on a little longer for me, Baby.”

Galo pulls his hips back, his hold on Lio keeping him in place, and thrusts forward. Lio whimpers out a moan at the friction of Galo's cock sliding against his legs, brushing his balls and cock with each drag. Scrabbling for some sort of purchase, Lio latches onto the arm Galo has wrapped around him.

There's the ghost touch of ropes, still caressing Lio's skin, but beyond that, there's the warmth of Galo around him. The heat of him, rekindling the memory of pain into purely pleasure. Galo's hips hit against Lio's ass with each thrust, and it echoes with the strikes Galo had laid on him earlier, except now it only feels _good_ , and that's how it lingers in Lio's mind. He remembers, but it mixes with _now_ , and all there's left to do is to feel and burn and take it.

Lio's murmuring nonsense against Galo's neck. Something like _please_ and _Galo_ and _fuck_ and _love you_ , and sometimes all of those, jumbled together, because what's so much more important than what he's saying is the way Galo's thrusts speed up, and the way Galo reaches down with the hand curled around Lio's hip to instead wrap around his cock.

Something searing and overwhelming takes over Lio. Galo strokes him through it, whatever this is, and Lio distantly recognizes it as pleasure, but it takes him and pulls him under an ocean. When he emerges, he's breathless, and laying boneless against Galo's chest, barely held up. Galo thrusts one last time between Lio's thighs, and comes across the sheets, burying his face in Lio's hair and groaning.

After a moment, Galo guides Lio to lay across the bed, on the clean side, while he goes to get water and a bar of chocolate. When he returns, Galo sits at the head of the bed and pulls Lio in close, between his legs. Lio leans against Galo's chest, feeling warm and sated and like he's still floating somewhere in space with the promare rather than in his own bed.

Galo makes Lio drink half the glass of water, and feeds him bits of chocolate while Lio returns to his body. Galo rubs soothingly at the rope marks, taking stock, checking if any are harsh enough to need dressing. He must deem them fine because he leaves Lio to melt into the pillows while he gets that sweater that Lio loves. After wrestling Lio into it, Galo resumes his place between Lio and the headboard.

A few minutes and a few bites of chocolate later, Lio lets out a soft sigh, putting the water on the nightstand, and tips his head back against Galo's chest, eyes slipping closed. “That was nice.”

Galo snorts. “Nice?”

“Acceptable,” Lio corrects. “Adequate.”

Galo laughs, full-bodied and warm. “You little, brat, I'll—I will have you know, I am nothing but the _best_!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lio murmurs, “Burning firefighter soul that can't be quenched and all that.”

“Exactly!” Galo says, and then nuzzles against Lio's temple. “I love you.”

“Love you, too. Even when you're cocky.”

Galo gasps, offended. “It's not cocky if it's true!”

“That's exactly the definition of cocky.”

“Yeah, you're one to talk!” Galo counters, which—fair enough. “You're so mean when you dom. Like you're a king or something.”

Lio laughs. “You like it.”

“I mean, yeah, but! That's besides the point! You're way cockier than me! I'm just—I'm perfect! Perfect amount of confidence and modesty, all in one!”

Lio finds himself smiling. He lets Galo have this one, considering how good Galo's treated him tonight. “You are incredible. You took such good care of me.”

“I wish I could take pictures,” Galo whines, already forgetting about their debate. “You're so pretty, all tied up.”

“You should,” Lio says. “Next time.”

Galo's arms tighten around Lio. “You mean that?”

“Yeah, 'course.” Lio feels his smile tug into a smirk, even though he doesn't mean to do it. “I look good in black.”


End file.
